It happened last weekend during the opening scene of the family reunion. Last weekend was my youngest brother’s Eagle scout ceremony and my immediate family plus relatives were in attendance, staying the weekend at my family home on a lake about an hour’s drive up the coast. Comments about my food intake and weight started the moment I stepped out of the car to greet my aunt at the bus station, and continued the whole weekend. Remarks on calorie consumption, medication, coffee, motivation to still lose weight, body image, water, yoga, lack of interest in cooking “But you used to love cooking!” and possible replacement of food with yoga (what?)
I stood in one place on the kitchen floor for so long, while my mom, sister, boyfriend, dad intervened, dog/brothers floating in my peripheral, that my knees and calves felt weak. I hadn’t eaten in 20 hours. I wanted to sit down on the bench, but knew I’d need to sit on a cushion since my bones now meet the wood with harsh presence and I didn’t want the additional comments.
They talked themselves into a contrived state of thinking I’m doing okay but need to be careful. Want me to work on body image/negative self-talk, they don’t know I’m vomiting occasionally, don’t know I have no end in sight, don’t know that the reason I can eat in front of them is because I do not eat otherwise. Hearing them lull themselves away from disaster territory made me feel two things: how dare they think I’m okay when I know there is no end in sight. And also, great relief that I have time to continue, unhampered by their overwhelming love and cloying concern. This is all still mine, for now.
